


The Lake of Caerllyn

by albion (wydryn)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, background OCs - Freeform, gonna be a happy ending but kind of slowburny, i had to rewatch the finale for this pls appreciate her, little bit of internalised homophobia but more in an 'unaware of how times have changed' way, not really angst, your garden variety 'arthur returns fic'
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:27:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21561112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wydryn/pseuds/albion
Summary: They found him by a lake, on a sunny day in early August. It was the climax of months of build up, with every person waking up that day feeling excited and a little unnerved — but most went about their days as normal. No one spoke it aloud, but everyone somehow knew today was the day the world was going to change.Arthur's alive again, but everything around him is different except Merlin.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 65





	1. the man from the lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when two boys go to the lake, they find something very unexpected. 
> 
> emrys is trying not to allow himself hope.

They found him by a lake, on a sunny day in early August. It was the climax of months of build up, with every person waking up that day feeling excited and a little unnerved — but most went about their days as normal. No one spoke it aloud, but everyone somehow knew today was the day the world was going to change. 

This feeling was shared with Harri Davies and Rhys Williams, two average Welsh boys who didn’t know yet that they were about to play a vital part in changing the world. No one would have thought the two boys, pale (from being Welsh) and small (from being eleven), could possibly have any significance from looking at them. However, for a second on this day, they would be the most important people in the world. 

The sun was shining, unusually for a Welsh August day. The birds were singing, but Harri had pointed out that they sounded like they were singing a new song about three times. Rhys had verbally disagreed with the concept of birds knowing different songs, but he did understand what Harri meant. Neither boy realised that the birds weren’t singing a new song, but rather a very old one, a song meant to greet a king. 

Harri and Rhys were going down to a lake on this sunny day. This lake was a paradise for children, beautiful clean water, reflecting blue skies even on cloudy days and warm water despite being in Wales. However, for adults, those who have known love and known pain, all they can feel is a deep misery emanating from the waters, buried in the stones, a loss of hope and the truest pain any one human could endure. An old myth, a superstition at best, says it is cursed, that to go there is to lose whatever you love most. Superstitions, however, are learnt behaviours, made not born, and the children of this village have not learnt to fear this one yet. 

Harri and Rhys walked together, side by side, to this lake. (One day in the future, Harri will return here alone, and weep, but that day will not come for many happy years). For now they are content, walking side by side together through the grass. 

They don’t notice him at first. They are preoccupied with swimming, not allowing themselves to waste a minute of summer. Harri splashes Rhys in the face, Rhys goes underwater, and grabs Harri’s legs out from under him. When Harri surfaced, there’s a sound that catches in his ears and he covered Rhys’s mouth to listen. 

“Do you hear that?” he whispered. Rhys looked around, but shook his head. Harri could definitely hear something, and he realised suddenly it was crying. 

He gestured at Rhys to follow, and made his way towards the sound ringing in his ears. They reached a part of the pebble beach that looked entirely undisturbed. 

“I’ve never seen this place before,” Rhys said, looking around. “Looks like no one’s been here for years.” 

Harri noticed something. “Except him.” He was dripping wet, his blond hair sticking to his face and neck, and he was curled as tightly as he could. His obstruction became clear as they got closer. The crying noises had faded away, and suddenly Harri doubted they’d been there at all. Just his imagination, or something leading him to this strange man. 

“Is that armour?” Rhys said, mostly to himself. 

Harri stepped forward, and Rhys grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?” he hissed. 

“He might be dangerous,” Rhys said. “Look, he’s got a sword.” Rhys was right, there was a sword hanging from the man’s belt. Harri took a step back. 

“Hello,” Harri called, from a safe distance. The man didn’t look up. “Hello?” he called again. 

Rhys picked up a stick. “Maybe he’ll respond if we throw this,” he suggested. 

Harri shot him a look. “Are you insane? He has a _sword_ ,” he snapped. 

“Worth a try,” Rhys rumbled, but he dropped the stick. “Excuse me?” 

The man responded this time, looking up from where he was curled up. His eyes were a bright piercing blue, and suddenly both boys felt compelled to bow. Neither did though, young boys aren’t prone to bowing in front of their friends, even if they’re being faced by someone whose very presence seems to demand it. 

He stood suddenly, faster than he looked able to do. The armour clinked loudly as he moved and he winced a little standing. There was a hole in the chainmail covering his stomach, Harri saw suddenly, as if he’d been stabbed. He opened his mouth, and both boys leaned forward to listen. When he did speak however, neither understood it. 

“Is he speaking Welsh?” Rhys asked. “Are you speaking Welsh?” he directed at the man. 

The man frowned, and said something else. Still in that other language. 

Harri frowned and thought to lessons. “Bore da?” he tried. The man just frowned. “No he’s not speaking Welsh.” 

“Then what is he speaking?” 

“No idea,” Harri said, before an idea hit him. “You know who I bet would know?” he asked, jabbing Rhys excitedly. “Emrys.”

“You want to take this stranger from the lake to see Emrys? The crazy old man who only leaves his house to go to Tesco?” 

Harri nodded. “He’s the oldest person I know, bet he knows every language ever spoken.” 

“How do we get him to come with us?” 

Harri sighed. “Who are you,” he tried, talking to the man again, slowly annunciating each word.

The man frowned and shook his head, annunciating his words as well. Unfortunately, those words still held no meaning to either of the boys. 

“I’m _Rhys_ ,” Rhys attempted, pointing at himself. “This is _Harri_.” 

The man grunted this time. “Arthur,” he said, slowly still. Then he said something faster, which Harri was sure was a swear word. He grinned at the man. 

“He said ‘fuck’ in knight,” he said to Rhys. Rhys laughed loudly. 

“Come with us,” Rhys said, gesturing and pointing in the direction of the building. “We know someone who can help you.” 

Arthur seemed to understand this, and started to follow them. It was a quiet walk at first, Rhys and Harri not wanting to openly discuss the man they’d found, even if he couldn’t understand him. The man himself was furiously whispering to himself, a mix of swearing and different names by the sounds of things. Suddenly he grabbed Harri’s shoulder. 

“Merlin?” he asked. It was the clearest noise he’d made since he told them his name. 

Harri glanced at Rhys. “Uh, like from Shrek?” 

Arthur shook his head, clearly frustrated. There was a rustling in the bushes, and suddenly Arthur’s sword was in his hand. Rhys’s eyes widened, and he grabbed Harri’s arm again. Arthur turned in a circle, sword pointing out. There was a hole in the back of his armour, as though the sword that stabbed him went all the way through. But that was impossible, Harri assured himself. Still he stayed quiet. 

Arthur pointed his sword at the bush, which rustled louder and louder, until a rabbit ran out, spooked by something. Neither boy dared to laugh while Arthur winced and sheathed his sword. He gestured for them to continue. They walked a little faster now eager to get out of the woods and into the village. 

The village of Caerllyn was small. It was built amongst the ruins of an old kingdom, the castle of which being the only structure still standing. There were bricks scattered where old buildings stood, but the castle remained an impressive size. It was free to visit, but it was rare to see anyone there. The villagers were surprisingly apathetic about the castle, as if they barely saw it. No myth or superstition had ever cropped up about the castle, not like the lake. It had just fallen into disrepair. 

In fact, the only person who ever visited it was the caretaker. Known to the village as Emrys, no one remembered a time without him. He’d been there, old and cranky for as long as even the oldest villager remembered. And, he believed, for long after even the youngest villager would survive. 

Emrys knew himself by a different name. He pottered about his castle, for it was his now, with a strength and agility unexpected for a man of his age. Emrys’s body and mind had been decaying slowly over the decades, however the build up of the last few months had not skipped him. His mind had sharpened, and two days earlier he had woken up in a body that was as young and fit as the day _he’d_ died. 

He’d woken up as Merlin, in a village that knew him only as Emrys. And while there was a mounting feeling of hope rising up within his stomach, he tried to extinguish it, imagining multitudes of reasons for his young form. The hope persisted however, for none of these scenarios were quite as realistic, or as tempting, as the idea of Arthur’s return. 

By the time this day came around he had given up on the idea of Arthur just barging into his house, demanding to be fed and clothed (because he still didn’t know how to by himself). And Emrys would— Well, it was unlikely he would snog him back to death, or that Arthur would let him, but that was the only ending to this story Emrys could imagine. He hid this thought in his Emrys disguise, behind the old man who he pretended didn’t love Arthur with every bone in his body, still after all these years. 

Every night he would go to sleep, and he would see Arthur. Either brave and strong as he had been, fighting alongside Merlin. Magic and steel together, defeating all in their path. Or he would be back to the early days, love disguised as barbs. Or sometimes it wouldn’t be disguised, and he and Arthur would be together, sinking into the sheets on Arthur’s bed. 

On the worst nights Arthur died in front of him all over again, as tears streamed down his cheeks. No matter the dream, he would wake up with Arthur’s name on his lips and an ache in his heart. It had been centuries since he’d last actually seen Arthur, and yet his face was the only one not to fade from his mind, he sparkled as if Emrys had only seen him yesterday. 

And he never would again, Emrys reminded himself, fighting down the hope still climbing through his body. Hope was for Merlin, Emrys knew his future was bleak. And yet—

Before he could finish his thought there was a crash outside the castle. He ran to the entrance, knocking over several pots. (Maybe Emrys was more hopeful than he thought.)

His hope was not rewarded when he got to the door. He saw only two boys at the door, looking vaguely dishevelled, and a little damp. 

“You haven’t been to the lake, have you?” he asked. His voice was old and scratchy, from years of underuse, and because he enjoyed the reactions of younger people who were a little scared of Emrys. “You know it’s _haunted_.”

“It’s not haunted,” one of the boys said sticking out his chin. 

“Yes it is,” Emrys disagreed. “By a very old man who hates children who interrupt his nice pleasant day.” 

“No, but we found someone,” the other boy said. “And we don’t know what language he speaks, but Harri said you would.” 

“Oh you did, did you?” Emrys said, grudgingly. He liked thinking that the village saw him as more mysterious and wise than senile. “Oh, alright then, bring him through.” 

The boys looked at each other. “He kind of passed out,” Harri said slowly. 

Emrys tutted. “Then drag him, I don’t have all day.” He was half expecting them to pull in a young child, but when they yanked the knight in, chainmail clinking he felt his eyes widen. 

“Where did you find him?” he demanded. He dropped down to the king’s side, checking the holes in his chainmail where his life had drained away from him. He looked at the two boys. “What did he say?”

“We found him at the lake,” the one whose name Emrys didn’t know said. “And we don’t even know what language he was speaking. All we could make out was Merlin.”

Emrys smiled, half to himself. “Welcome back Sire,” he muttered in Brittonic, looking down at Arthur’s face, stroking his hair off his forehead. Arthur blinked slowly. Emrys looked up at the boys. “Get out before I tell your mothers where you’ve been,” he snapped, in English. 

They looked at each other. “He’s _our_ knight, we found him,” Harri protested. 

“Get. Out,” Emrys hissed. “I’ll curse you,” he threatened. The boys turned and ran, and Emrys turned his attention back to his unconscious king. “Wake up, clotpole,” Emrys said, and tapped a finger to the middle of Arthur’s forehead. 

Arthur gasped and sat up all at once. He looked around the room frantically, until he turned back to see Emrys. His gaze went from panicked to relieved within a second.

“Merlin?” he asked, and Emrys let himself melt away until he was just Merlin again, plain and simple. 

“Yes Arthur,” Merlin answered, and his voice was clear and hopeful again for the first time in years. 

“Fetch me breakfast,” was all Arthur said, before promptly passing out. 

“Kind of wishing you were still dead now,” Merlin grumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been wanting to do an Arthur returns fic for Years and i finally got the push the other night bc netflix is a bitch and removing one of the only watchable shows off uk netflix. i've only written about three chapters, so they'll be posted over the next week, but i don't know how frequent updates are.
> 
> uh also i know very little about wales hnnnng i'm scottish but i'm trying my best i've done me research i swear, but if i do get anything wrong and you're welsh and get mad Please let me know i will fix her :)))
> 
> (caerllyn is a horribly made up welsh village name kind of meaning fortified lake, it comes from the naming for old Roman settlements (caer which means fortified) and the word for lake (llyn) Welsh towns are often named after landmarks as far as I know, and it seemed fitting to call it fortified, also caerllyn has some letters from camelot so i did put some thought into this i swear.)


	2. ceffyl dŵr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> arthur's responsibilities in the future turn out not much different from his responsibilities in the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry, this is a long one.

Merlin woke up the next day feeling as young as he looked. Arthur had not properly woken up again the night before, barely opening his eyes as Merlin fed him. It reminded Merlin distantly of those last day, spoon feeding Arthur to give him strength for his final journey. He ached as Arthur slept. Loneliness will be replaced, he promised himself. Emrys was gone, and only hopeful, childlike Merlin remained. 

And for once, Merlin’s sleep had been dreamless, Arthur’s presence appearing to appease his mind and eliminate the need to dream he was there. Merlin swung himself out of bed, and went dancing down his hallway. At least he felt like he was dancing. Really it was more of a mix of skipping and jumping, as he narrowly avoided slamming his pictures off the walls, and banging into doorways. 

He stopped outside the room he had put Arthur in, and took a deep breath before opening the door. “Good morning, sire,” he said cheerfully, spelling the windows wide open. 

Arthur groaned. “There’s nothing good about this morning, Merlin,” he said, crankily, before opening his eyes a slit. 

Merlin beamed still. “I disagree, this may be the best morning of my life,” he said. 

“Yes, I suppose it must have been a while since I was last here to brighten your day,” Arthur remarked, before opening his eyes properly. They widened dramatically to see Merlin. “Merlin,” he gasped. “What the hell are you wearing?” 

Merlin glanced down at his jeans and tshirt with a frown. “These are my jeans,” he said. “They’re very fashionable nowadays.” 

Arthur scoffed. “Well I certainly won’t be wearing them. What has this kingdom come to?” he said, shaking his head. “I thought Guinevere would take better care of such matters.” 

Merlin hesitated. Somehow he’d never thought about how Arthur would see this world, how he would have experienced the passage of time. “Arthur,” he started, ignoring the frown that graced the king’s face. “Do you know how long you were — well — dead for?”

Arthur sat up in bed, his covers falling away from his chest. “I hadn’t thought much on it,” he admitted. “Has it been a while? I did not understand those strange boys who found me yesterday, Druids of some sort, I assume.” 

“Not Druids, sire,” Merlin said. “Just boys from the village. It’s been quite some time since you died.” 

“How long?” Arthur asked, as though he was humouring Merlin. 

“Well,” Merlin said. “About a thousand years, give or take.” 

Arthur’s eyes widened comically and his hands came up to cover his mouth. “A thous— A thousand years?” 

Merlin nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

Then Arthur’s eyes almost seemed to grow concerned. “Have you been alone for a thousand years, Merlin?” 

Merlin couldn’t bring himself to lie, not now that he had only just got the king back. “Yes,” he said simply, trying to smile. 

Arthur looked like someone had kicked him in the teeth. 

“But it’s okay,” Merlin rushed to reassure him. “I’m fine, I have my house now, and I had Kilgharrah until he went quiet, and I’ve kept busy looking after your castle. Can I get you anything now you’re up?” 

Arthur looked unconvinced, but he could tell Merlin wanted to change the subject. “Alright Merlin, I’ll have some breakfast.”

“Yes sire,” Merlin said, before hesitating. “You know, I’ll be the one cooking.” Arthur made a face. “We could go out somewhere instead?” Merlin suggested, and Arthur raised an eyebrow. 

“People go out for breakfast these days?” he asked, disdainfully. When Merlin nodded, he sighed. “Okay Merlin, fetch me some clothes.” 

“Technically, I’m not your servant anymore,” Merlin pointed out. 

He expected Arthur to shoot another barb, but instead he frowned. He half looked as if he was going to apologise, so Merlin quickly agreed to bring him clothes, rather than allow Arthur to look sad for another second. 

He came back to see Arthur peering out his windows. His breath caught in his throat. Arthur was shirtless, wearing only Merlin’s own tartan pyjama trousers (Merlin had to get him out of what he had been wearing, it was probably unhygienic to keep him in the clothes he had died in, then immediately submerged in a lake in for thousands of years). Merlin’s heart soared to see him again. Arthur heard him come in, turned and frowned. 

“It has changed out there, hasn’t it,” he said, seriously. 

Merlin nodded. “It’s a bright new world,” he said. He put out his arms, for Arthur to take the clothes he held. 

Arthur picked up the jeans he held, and made a face. “I told you I wouldn’t wear these,” he said, throwing them aside. “Where are my tunics?” 

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, sire, somehow they didn’t survive the last thousand years. Not everything is as durable as me.” 

Arthur sighed, and picked them up. “Then they’ll do for now.” He looked up at Merlin. “And you don’t have to call me sire, technically I’m not your king anymore.” 

Merlin nodded and offered the shirt he also held. He wanted to tell Arthur that he’d always be his king, that even if he hadn’t been born to serve Arthur, which he had been, he would devote every hour to insuring he would stay safe and with him. He wanted to tell Arthur that he would go through another thousand years alone if that’s what he required, that there was no limit to his devotion. But the words dried up in his mouth, and what came out instead was: “Yes, sire.” 

Arthur scoffed annoyed again, and held the clothes back out to Merlin. “Help me dress then, Merlin,” he said. 

“Oh my favourite job,” Merlin said, but the happiness coursing through him rounded the edge of his sarcasm, until it sounded a lot more like ‘I love you’. Arthur smiled a small smile, as if he heard it too. 

Jeans were very uncomfortable, Arthur decided. They were too tight around his legs, although that might just be from belonging to Merlin he thought, glancing at Merlin at his side. The man clearly hadn’t used the past few centuries to buff up anymore, he seemed even skinnier than in the past. Arthur however, while he felt weak, had somehow preserved his mass. Walking around openly without a sword in this new place was terrifying, and he kept grabbing for the hilt that wasn’t there.

Merlin was prattling on about how much the world had changed. Arthur listened, not entirely believing all that he heard. The ability to fly should be reserved for birds and dragons, he believed. And phone calls sounded an awful lot like sorcery— he caught himself. Merlin was a sorcerer, he reminded himself, he couldn’t think like that anymore. 

“Are sorcerers free?” he asked, suddenly cutting into whatever Merlin was saying. 

Merlin hesitated. “There are no laws against them,” he said, and changed the subject. Arthur could tell he was lying somehow, but he didn’t press the matter. It wasn’t until they sat down at a cafe that Arthur spoke again. 

They were approached by the waitress, who was subtly chewing gum (Arthur did not recognise what gum was, only that there was clearly something in the waitresses mouth). He let Merlin order in that other language, a tongue he was starting to hate. When the waitress had left he leant forwards a little. 

“What is this new language?” he asked. 

“English,” Merlin answered. He seemed to hesitate before reaching out one hand. “I can make it so you can understand and speak it, if you want?” 

Arthur shook his head, a reflex rather than an actual answer. Not yet, he wanted to say. I’m not ready for your magic to be used on me yet. Instead he left the shake to be interpreted as an answer, and saw Merlin shrink a little in his chair. 

“How were they?” he asked, trying to change the subject. “After I died,” he clarified, although Merlin had clearly understood. 

“Gwen was a good queen,” Merlin responded. Arthur nodded, he had known she would be. 

“Of course, she was always better than me,” Arthur said, smiling to remember his wife. Her eyes lit with kindness, she smiled at him in his mind, as if to say that she managed, coped alone and she forgave him for his death. “How did she die?” 

Merlin hesitated, looking at the table. “Merlin?” 

He looked up, and Arthur was shocked to see tears in his eyes. 

“She grew very ill,” Merlin said. “I had not been to Camelot in many years when she called on me.” Arthur could hear the pain in his voice. 

“Why did you leave?” he asked. 

Merlin sighed. “You weren’t there.” It was the answer Arthur expected and the only answer Merlin could have given. 

Arthur was almost shocked at how normal he felt. Everyone he knew was dead, and he could feel the grief for his entire kingdom echoing through his brain.

And yet— It was as though he’d always known this was where they’d end up. He and Merlin had been knitted together so many years ago. It didn’t matter that he’d fallen in love with so many, and Merlin had as well. They’d watched each other fall through relationships, knowing that this was where they’d end up. This ending, he and Merlin together, this was always how he’d pictured his future. And now here they were, and all he had to do was reach out to Merlin and he knew Merlin would reach back. 

He pulled his hand off the table before he could try, reminding himself of where they were. In public was hardly the place to reach out for the man, you— well. It’s impolite and besides... Uther’s face appeared in his head, shaking his head slowly showing disapproval for Arthur’s object of affection. Arthur shook his head again, trying to rid himself of the man. 

“What about everyone else?” Arthur asked. 

Merlin sighed, and Arthur could see the same grief he had multiplied in Merlin’s eyes. 

“They died,” Merlin answered. “Some I saw again, some I didn’t. Percival was hard to shake,” he said, smiling a little to himself. “He followed me halfway across Albion to try and bring me back. On Gwen’s orders. Gaius died only a little while after you did, that one was fucking awful.” 

“Language, Merlin,” Arthur admonished, though he could feel his ears heat up and something deep and repressed wanted to hear Merlin swear again. Merlin was trying to blink away tears, but he laughed anyway. 

Happiness beamed out of Merlin as Arthur sat there. He could see it, every time he did anything it became stronger and stronger. He wondered again how Merlin did it, how Merlin waited here by the lake for him. Arthur had slept through what must have been the worst years of Merlin’s life. 

“Merlin,” he said, trying to force the meanings into his name. I’m sorry I died, I’m sorry I didn’t come back before now, I’m sorry it wasn’t you and me forever, but I promise it will be now, I love you more than anything else in the world, I’ll never leave you again. 

Merlin smiled, like he heard and understood every single word. He opened his mouth to reply, but the waitress came back with their food. 

“What a place,” Arthur said, wonderingly, looking at the food. “And everyone can come here?”

Merlin laughed. “Service isn’t just for royalty any more, I suppose,” he answered. 

“Ah Merlin,” Arthur sighed, happily. “This is far better than anything you could have cooked.” 

The lake at the edge of Caerllyn was home to many myths. Some, such as the loss of a loved one, were based on old stories, of a man who lost not one but two of his loves to its waters. Some, such as the Sidhe, were based on legendary sightings, on dark misty nights some say they see the entrance to Avalon. But the ceffyl dŵr was based on missing people around the lake. Some would go to its shores and never return, with lists of the missing adorning the police station. It was a water horse, said to be guarding something in the lake. Grandmothers would warn their children not to disturb anything while at the lake, not to take or remove anything that the ceffyl dŵr might see as its own, for fear of incurring its wrath. And now the ceffyl dŵr had lost something it was passionate about keeping, and the two boys it saw to be the culprits were on their way back. 

Rhys and Harri’s day out the day before had been entirely disturbed by the appearance of the knight. They’d not fancied walking all the way back out to the lake again that, not when there was no easy road or path. The next day however, there was unlikely to be another half drowned knight waiting at the side of the lake today, so they returned. 

It was colder than yesterday, colder in fact (though the boys were not aware of it) than the lake had been for years. Centuries some may say. 

This didn’t stop them. Welsh children share one characteristic with all children in every country in the UK (except possibly England). This characteristic is the ability to ignore how cold any body of water is at any time of the year, and immediately run in, without fear of hypothermia or frostbite. Harri and Rhys continued on from where they had been yesterday, splashing and ducking each other until they got tired and floated back to shore. 

They were lying on the pebbles, trying to dry off despite the sun being unseen and the lack of towels in the area, when Rhys suddenly sat up. “Is that a horse?” 

Harri sat up on his elbows. “Oh it is,” he said, surprised. Despite their most recent discovery at the lake, seeing a horse there still seemed unusual. There were rarely horses outside of fields, let alone in the middle of the woods. Harri got up to go closer. 

“Do you think you should?” Rhys asked, nervously. He didn’t like any big animal. 

Harri brushed him off. “Maybe he belongs to that knight,” he said, walking closer. He reached a hand out to the horse, who allowed him to stroke down its snout. “See Rhys,” he called back. “He’s friendly.” 

Rhys shivered. “Harri come back,” he said again. He twisted his hands together in nervousness. “I don’t like it.” 

Harri laughed, still stroking the horse. “Don’t be scared, Rhys. You’re a nice horse, aren’t you?” he muttered to the horse. Harri was not scared of horses. He’d often gone riding when he was younger, as part of birthday parties and holidays. So when the horse knelt in front of him, he took that as it was, a clear invitation to climb on his back. 

“Look Rhys,” Harry shouted, as the horse stood up. “I’m riding it!” 

“Get down, Harri!” Rhys shouted, but Harri was busy discovering that bareback riding was nowhere near as easy as riding with a saddle on. 

“Whoa, boy,” he muttered, grabbing around the horses neck to stay on. “Whoa whoa.” 

“Harri stop it.” Rhys’s shouts were getting shrill, so Harri finally decided to get off. 

“Okay, you big baby.” 

But he couldn’t. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t tear himself from the horse’s back. He looked up at Rhys with fear in his eyes. 

“I can’t get off,” he called. “Rhys help I can’t—” Harri didn’t finish before the horse turned and plunged into the lake. 

Rhys just stared at the ripples emanating from where his friend had gone under. He stood there for a second, waiting for Harri to come back up, silently begging God, or the Sidhe or whatever was listening to let his head break the surface. Then, when Harri didn’t appear he turned and ran. 

Merlin and Arthur had only just arrived back at Merlin’s house outside the castle, when they heard a loud banging at the door. Merlin groaned loudly. They had been about to go look at the castle, the only building nearby that Arthur would recognise. Merlin had been looking forward to the visit, he had spelled the building so no one but those with prior attachments would even look at it. The charm tended to extend to his house, but now he’d had two visitors in two days, and he doubted this one would be as good of a visit as the one the day before. 

He threw the door open to see the boy from yesterday, not Harri, at the door. 

“What do you want boy?” he started harshly, before seeing he was crying. He immediately softened. “Oh, hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, kneeling down in front of him. 

The boy looked up at him. Then frowned. “Where’s Emrys?”

Oh fuck, Merlin thought. “Uh, I’m Emrys’s nephew,” he lied. “Emrys uh… Died?” he said to himself. He noticed the boys face was still twisted with confusion. He sighed and committed. “Yep, Emrys is dead.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the boy frowned again. His face brightened when he looked behind Merlin. “Can I borrow the knight?” he asked, pointing at where Arthur was standing behind Merlin. 

“You most certainly can not,” Merlin said, before turning to Arthur. “I’ll just be a minute,” he switched quickly to Brittonic. 

Arthur nodded, but remained in the room, half leaning against the wall. 

“What’s happened?” Merlin asked, turning back to the boy.

“Well me and Harry were at the lake,” the boy started. 

“Two days in a row?” Merlin interrupted. “You boys never learn.”

Arthur coughed. “Let the boy finish, Merlin.” 

Merlin mimed zipping his lips and gestured for the boy to continue. 

“Well we were there, and there was this horse. I don’t like horses, so I stayed away, but Harri climbed right on,” the boy said. 

“No survival instinct, this Harri,” Merlin said, mostly to himself. 

“Well the horse went straight into the water, with Harri on his back,” the boy finished. 

“Fuck,” Merlin said, before gasping and covering his mouth. “I’m so sorry, forget I said that. Well, what’s your name again, boy?” 

“Rhys,” said Rhys, still sniffling a little. “Please help me Emrys’s nephew.” 

“Call me Merlin,” Merlin corrected. “I’ll have to talk to my knight first though. Why don’t you go blow your nose or something, maybe play some mario cart, whatever kids do.” 

Rhys gave him a weird look, but did follow where Merlin was pointing to the toilet. Merlin assumed to blow his nose, but he wasn’t 100% sure what mario cart was, or how to play it, so he supposed it could be either. 

“Arthur,” he started, already apologetic. “We gotta help this kid.” 

Arthur nodded. “Of course, let me get my sword. But first, what are we helping him with.” 

Merlin shrugged. “Some kind of horse that kidnaps annoying eleven year olds. Honestly, I’m not mad, but Rhys is upset.” He hesitated. 

“I think it would be better if I did sort you out with English.” 

Arthur nodded, looking determined. Merlin breathed a sigh of relief to see that the mention of magic hadn’t quite caused a panic for Arthur. “We have to save the annoying eleven year old. I owe him a debt.” 

“Okay,” Merlin said, cautiously putting out his hand. “This won’t hurt,” he promised, before tapping Arthur on the head. 

Arthur’s eyes briefly rolled back in his head as Merlin’s turned gold. He staggered for a second, and closed his eyes briefly. “How do we know if it worked?” he asked, when he had properly recovered. 

“Uh,” Merlin said. “Do you understand this?” he asked, in English. 

Arthur nodded. “Of course I understand that, Merlin,” he snapped in English. “I’m not an idiot.” 

“Oh he learnt English,” Rhys said from behind them. “Will you help me?” he asked Arthur. 

“I would be honoured, sir,” Arthur said, nodding his head to the boy. Rhys looked to Merlin to see if Arthur was joking. 

“We’ll come with you kid,” Merlin said. “You just lead the way.” 

It was weird walking back to the lake he’d died at. The trees seemed different in the future, there were far fewer of them, and they were somehow less green. He hadn’t walked this far in years either, he was used to horseback for longer walks, and apparently sleeping for years made waking up to two hikes in a row hurt like a bitch. 

“How much further,” he asked Merlin. 

“Not far,” he promised. Arthur kept looking at him, wondering how so much time could have past and Merlin could still stay the same. What did you cling to, he wanted to ask. What preserved you, so you could be my Merlin again when I woke. He felt a shoot of love through him and quickly looked away. 

Rhys broke into a jog when they get closer, leading them to the exact spot he had seen Harri. 

“It was right here,” he said, pointing into the water. “He disappeared right there.” 

“Right, Rhys,” Arthur suddenly turned serious. “It’s important you tell us exactly what you saw.” 

“I told you everything,” Rhys said. “It was a horse that stole Harri, and swam right underwater.”

“Sounds like a ceffyl dŵr,” Arthur mused, looking across the lake. “Like a kelpie.”

Merlin shook his head. “They’re not dangerous down here, only up north. Although,” he hesitated. “They do say not to take things from the lakes they live in.” 

“That’s what my nain says,” Rhys said. “We’re not supposed to remove anything from the lake or we might die.” 

“Think carefully,” Arthur urged. “Can you think of anything you took yesterday that might be important.” 

“Arthur are you serious?” Merlin asked. He glanced at Rhys and continued in Brittonic. “You’re the Once and Future King. There’s nothing more important than you.” 

Merlin’s steady gaze and the way his words were strung with truth struck Arthur in the heart. He just stared for a second. “Ah. I see.” He turned to the lake. “Well I’m back now,” he announced. “Return the boy.” He grabbed the hilt of his sword, and readied himself to pull it out. 

Rhys gasped as a horse surfaced from the lake. “That’s it,” he hissed, poking Merlin in the arm. “That’s the horse.”

“Ow, okay I get it,” Merlin hissed, hitting his hand away. He put a hand on Arthur’s arm. “You have to get Harri back, not just kill it.” 

Arthur shrugged him off. “I know what I’m doing.” He faced the horse. “Bring me Harri— What’s his last name?” he checked with Rhys. 

“Davies,” Rhys whimpered. 

“Bring me Harry Davies,” Arthur said, brandishing his sword. 

The horse nickered, as if to say “fuck off”. 

“Um, Arthur,” Merlin called over. “He just told you to fuck off.”

Arthur turned to him. “You can speak to it?” 

Merlin shrugged. “Its magic, sometimes I can. Hey, ceffyl dŵr, can we please get his friend back?” 

The horse shook its mane, and turned its eyes to Rhys, who was shaking with terror. “What do I do?” he whimpered. 

Merlin stepped in front of him. “Whoa girl, don’t attack him, he’s just a kid.” He held his arms out protectively. Magic, Arthur realised. He’s ready to do magic. 

He glanced at Arthur. “There’s something not right here. Ceffyl dŵr just don’t attack kids, they’re pests not kidnappers.” 

“Well he’s kidnapped a child, Merlin,” Arthur said. “What exactly do you suggest I do?” 

“I don’t know,” Merlin said. “Just don’t kill her.” 

Arthur hesitated, but put down the sword. “Okay Merlin,” he said. “I trust you.” 

Merlin nodded, and stepped away from Rhys. Arthur slid behind him. He could hear Rhys’s panicked breaths, and tried to shoot him a reassuring smile. By the look on Rhys’s face he failed. 

Merlin kept walking right up to the horse, and patted her on the nose. The horse nickered, warningly, but Merlin just tutted. 

“Oh this isn’t you,” he said, quietly. “Something’s really freaked you out, huh?” 

The horse seemed to whine, its tail thrashing behind him. Merlin ignored it. “Well let’s sort this out,” he said, and pushed down the horse’s nose. The horse’s whole form flickered, for a second Arthur thought he saw it grow wings. Then Merlin stepped back and the horse reared onto its hind legs, neighing loudly. Arthur grasped his sword, before he heard Merlin laugh. 

“You don’t mean any harm, do you?” he said putting his hands out to the horse. The horse quietened for him. “Now can you bring up Harri?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. 

Rhys gasped. Harri had appeared from the water, held up by two pale hands sticking out of the water. “Freya,” Merlin muttered, a smile playing on his lips. He held out his hand to Harri, who took it, blinking slowly. He muttered something, and his eyes flashed gold as Harri was sent spinning to the shore. 

“Harri,” Rhys yelled, reaching for his friend. 

“Rhys,” Harri muttered. “Let’s not come back here for a while.” Rhys nodded, and grabbed him. They ran away. 

Arthur’s eyes were glued to Merlin, as he grabbed one of the hands that had propelled Harri towards him. He squeezed it, eyes closed tight, before he released it, and Freya back to the lake. Arthur turned away before Merlin could see the absolute jealousy and sadness in his eyes. 

“Goodbye, friend,” he said to the ceffyl dŵr, who turned and melted back into the water. 

‘There’s a reason you returned,’ Arthur heard a woman’s voice. He knew instinctively that he was the only one who could hear it. ‘Watch out, King Arthur.’

Merlin came splashing out of the water, and Arthur held out his hand. “Good work, Merlin,” he said, expecting a handshake. Instead Merlin hugged him closely. He froze for a minute, deeply aware of the two boys next to him. He pulled out the hug first, but Merlin just smiled at him. 

“We’re still a good team,” Merlin said, smiling brightly.

“We are,” Arthur echoed, still thinking of the woman’s voice in his head. He groaned when thinking about the long walk back. The boys had already left, so he turned to Merlin. “Any chance of not having to walk back to yours?” 

Merlin’s face seemed to brighten more, and he held out his hand. Arthur hesitated, and took it. 

They disappeared in a golden cloud, a second before an island resurfaced in the middle of the island, with a broken down tower, that looked older even than the castle, right in the centre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the ceffyl dŵr is the welsh equivalent of the kelpie up here (our most famous kelpie is nessie). kelpies are shapeshifting lochdwellers which trick people into climbing onto their back and then immediately drown them in the water. The ceffyl dŵr in south wales has different lore than north wales as far as my limited research goes, but sometimes they do trick people into climbing onto their back, fly into the air and evaporate and let the person fall to their dath :) 
> 
> thank you for reading chapter three is well under way n it will be shorter, this was originally two chapters that i put together 
> 
> i promise rhys and harri won't be in Every chapter i'll just use them to chuck in harms way every so often since i already have them


	3. arthur the accidental anti-vaxxer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> merlin discovers the trouble of arthur suddenly returning to life.

The dragon slept still. Not the caged sleep of the last hundred years, this time he was hiding himself. When he had been drawn into slumber this tower was tall, marking out the entrance to Avalon, an older structure than the humans had known. Now the people of Caerllyn would see it new, a crumbling relic from a time of magic, and he would be too. 

Magic had slept. And now he is savouring his last few minutes of sleep, before he will be shaken savagely from his slumber. 

Arthur lay awake. Beds were more comfortable now, he thought distantly, but there’s an aching loneliness in sleeping alone, especially with the knowledge that your previous bedmate is dead. He let himself think about Guinevere now, pictured her face in his mind and he felt empty. He thought about Gwaine, about Percival, about Gaius, about every knight, every servant, every peasant he could picture. He held their faces in his head, spinning them round and round, until finally he reached Morgana. 

His Morgana, young and fresh and caring, before he and Uther had ruined her. 

He should have saved her, should have fought his father on magic, should have permitted it himself. Arthur had held Morgana’s rope, had been so close to pulling her back. And then he let it go. 

And his thoughts landed again on Merlin, and he ached. His grief for Merlin was more than any other single person on that list. He had slept, unaware of these deaths. Merlin had experienced them one by one, all alone. And yet he waited. Arthur knew why, he knew when he had woken that Merlin wouldn’t be far away. He had always known Merlin’s unwavering protection and loyalty, even when he hadn’t recognised the magic he wielded. 

He had so many questions about that magic, how many times he had used it. ‘You’ve done that before’, he’d said the day he died, when Merlin had prevented those Saxons from following them. Merlin had just looked at him, serious for the first time in his life. And Arthur was faced with the realisation that this man was more devoted to him than anyone else in the whole world ever could be. 

Merlin’s magic was warm. It was warm, and it felt like a soft touch from the past. It wasn’t until Merlin had turned the switch in his brain to allow him to understand English that he realised that he had felt it before. Almost everything he had done in the past had had 

He needed some water. He thought that, but really he just couldn’t sit there for another second, staring at the ceiling in a horribly silent room. He padded, quietly through the house, going downstairs to use the tap, something Merlin had showed him earlier, and a glass. He turned on the light in the kitchen, and turned to face the family room joining onto it as he drank. He frowned to see someone on the sofa. He came closer to see Merlin. 

The realisation that Merlin had given him his bed filled him up. Of course he did, Arthur thought scolding himself in his head. Here he is, in the future, knowing how Merlin felt, and he was still making the same mistakes he had with Gwen all those years ago. 

The only thing to do, he thought, perhaps a little impulsively, was to carry Merlin to his bed. He picked him up carefully, praying he was a heavy sleeper. Merlin didn’t wake, just muttered Arthur’s name, and curled into his shoulder. 

He carried him upstairs, trying very hard not to smack his head off of the walls (he wasn’t entirely successful, but it’s the thought that counts). Lying Merlin into his bed, he couldn’t help but look around, as if he expected watching eyes, people ready to protest his course of action angrily. But then Merlin grabbed onto his arm, and it was all he could do not to lie down next to him, and sleep there with him. He gently disentangled his arm, and pressed his lips gently onto Merlin’s forehead, more of a breath than a kiss. 

He stopped for a second in the doorway, and watched the covers fold over Merlin by themselves. He stayed there, frozen for a second, fighting every instinct that told him to just go back and lie down next to him. Uther’s face filled up in his mind, silencing the urge to sleep next to Merlin. He went downstairs, and curled into the couch Merlin had previously been sleeping in. 

Merlin woke up in his bed. This was wrong, he remembered clearly falling asleep downstairs. Unless— he twisted quickly to the side, only to be deeply disappointed, but not surprised to see he was alone. But he hadn’t dreamt Arthur carrying him to bed, his head was hurting a little from when he was banging against doors. 

He sat up, hand finding the place on his forehead that he swore he felt Arthur kiss. That must have been a dream. Arthur had not shown any sign of wanting their relationship to be more than it had been before, and Merlin was fine with that. After so long without Arthur at all, he was grateful even to have the same old relationship from before, the careful lack of acknowledgement masking — whatever. 

He was fine with that — but Arthur still kissed him. He couldn’t stop himself smiling as he walked downstairs, to see Arthur sleeping on the sofa. He frowned to see him, Arthur looked terrible. A rash was painted over his face and arms, and sweat shone on his forehead. He was breathing heavily, and he looked pale and flushed at the same time. 

Merlin knelt next to him on the sofa, and laid his hand on his forehead. Arthur felt as hot and sweaty as he looked. He opened his eyes, and blinked up at Merlin, who could only stare back. 

“Think m dying,” Arthur said. “‘gain.”

“You’re not dying,” Merlin said, starting to realise what was happening. “You just have no vaccinations, there’s a lot of new diseases around and you haven’t been exposed to any of them.” 

“M dying,” Arthur said again, grabbing Merlin’s hand off his forehead, and pulling it into his chest. 

“Okay, sire,” Merlin responded, trying not to let his tone go too fond (he knew he was failing). “Let me get you some water, and I’ll see if I can stop the dying.” 

Arthur coughed weakly. “Get Gaius,” he said, between coughs. 

Merlin’s mouth dropped open. “I, um, I’ll try,” he stammered, trying not to let the hurt show. 

“He says you’re the most powerful sorcerer in the world,” Arthur said. 

Merlin nodded, tiredly. “He does say that.” 

Arthur tried to smile. “I believe him.” 

Merlin withdrew his hand and stood up, heading to the kitchen to get Arthur some water. He tried to think through his options. He knew that the best option, maybe the only option, was magic. But the last time he had tried to heal someone with magic sprung to mind. No, he decided. Magic was out. He’d have to work out some kind of remedy. This illness probably wouldn’t last long anyway.

Three days later Arthur was still sweaty and delirious. Merlin was utterly at his wits end, having tried every combination of herbs Gaius had ever shown him, and experimented with ones of his own. When those didn’t work he’d attempted human pharmaceuticals . Arthur was muttering about his father these days. If Merlin had to hear one more mutter of Uther he was going to spell Arthur’s mouth shut. The king was not one of the people from his old life he missed the most. 

But sometimes Arthur would say his name, and it was so soft and sweet, the exact opposite of what Arthur was usually like, that Merlin couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

Arthur now was piled in blankets. His eyes stared out from under a sweat soaked fringe, staring at Merlin. “Merlin,” he groaned. 

Merlin pulled a chair up close to the bed. “I’m here Arthur.” He patted his forehead with a cloth, and Arthur’s hand appeared suddenly, grasping his wrist. 

“Why haven’t you tried magic?” Arthur asked, and Merlin stiffened up. 

“I have,” he lied. He couldn’t bring himself to try magic, not straight away. Merlin’s magic was still new to Arthur, he didn’t want to scare him, or remind him of what happened when he attempted to heal his father. 

“No you haven’t,” Arthur argued. “I could have felt it.” 

Merlin stifled a laugh. “No you couldn’t.” 

“I can too,” Arthur said, pushing his chin out. “I could always, I think, I just didn’t realise.” 

Merlin resumed stroking Arthur’s hair off his forehead, but didn’t speak. 

“I felt it when you used it on me for English,” Arthur said. “And I liked it.” 

Merlin froze again. “You what.” 

“I liked it, Merlin,” Arthur said, sounding irritated at having to repeat himself. “Just make me better. That’s an order.” 

Merlin sighed. “Yes sire,” he said sarcastically. Arthur stared up at him as he whispered, so Merlin closed his eyes to cover up the gold eyes. 

Arthur sighed, and closed his eyes to sleep. Merlin stroked his already cooler forehead, and went downstairs to the sofa. 

The next day he woke up in his own bed, and when he went downstairs, he found Arthur on the sofa. 

“Stupid,” he muttered fondly. Arthur’s eyes fluttered open, and he groggily smiled. 

Merlin walked into the kitchen instead of telling Arthur he loved him.

Kilgharrah opened his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello yes this was filler lol,,,,,, i promise you this fic isn't getting better either this is very much self gratification pls appreciate my Attempt at adding a plot :)

**Author's Note:**

> i've been wanting to do an Arthur returns fic for Years and i finally got the push the other night bc netflix is a bitch and removing one of the only watchable shows off uk netflix. i've only written about three chapters, so they'll be posted over the next week, but i don't know how frequent updates are.
> 
> uh also i know very little about wales hnnnng i'm scottish but i'm trying my best i've done me research i swear, but if i do get anything wrong and you're welsh and get mad Please let me know i will fix her :)))
> 
> (caerllyn is a horribly made up welsh village name kind of meaning fortified lake, it comes from the naming for old Roman settlements (caer which means fortified) and the word for lake (llyn) Welsh towns are often named after landmarks as far as I know, and it seemed fitting to call it fortified, also caerllyn has some letters from camelot so i did put some thought into this i swear.)


End file.
